Chapter 11

She didn't move immediately.

Not because she didn't want to. But because something in her had shifted—something fragile, something she wasn't sure she could name.

Anton's words, his presence, had left a strange heat behind, like he had pulled her in and then dropped her, as if testing whether she'd bounce back. He hadn't wanted to talk about himself—hadn't wanted to reveal anything more than he'd already shown. And yet, in that brief conversation, he'd laid bare a piece of himself that he wasn't ready to face.

Caring makes us weak.

Nastya shook her head slightly. The words still felt like a wound, but not one that had fully closed.

Weak? Is that really how you see it, Anton?

She wasn't sure what had possessed her to say what she did—that quiet challenge, the offer to understand him. The words felt more like a dare. A way to break through the armor he wore so effortlessly.

But now, standing alone amidst the glittering crowd, the chill of the gala returning to her skin, she realized something unsettling:

He was right.

She didn't belong here.

Not really. Not in this world of pretense and power plays, not among people who looked at her like a shadow on the wall.

But she did belong in that conversation with him. In the space they'd shared, even if only for a moment.

The strange thing was, she couldn't stop thinking about him.

Not the cold, distant Anton everyone feared. Not the mafia heir who built walls around his life. But the man she'd just seen for the first time—so vulnerable, so… human.

No, Nastya, she told herself. Don't go there.

It wasn't safe. She knew that.

This wasn't the kind of game she could afford to play.

And yet, there was something pulling her toward it—toward him. Maybe it was the way he had looked at her, like he needed her to understand something he hadn't even spoken aloud. Maybe it was the raw truth in his voice, that sliver of a man who had buried so much under layers of control.

She turned away, eyes scanning the room but not really seeing it. Her gaze landed on the exit.

She should leave.

But before she could take a step, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. A sharp, sudden reminder of the reality she was trying to avoid.

She fished it out, heart still heavy from their conversation, and glanced at the screen.

A text from her mother.

"Nastya, I need you to come home early tonight. Lena isn't feeling well. Please don't stay too long."

The text was a tight coil of responsibility.

She sighed, slipping the phone back into her pocket.

I have no choice, she thought bitterly. I can't stay here forever.

She glanced around once more, her eyes searching the crowd, but there was no sign of Anton.

For some reason, that felt like a disappointment. As if the conversation hadn't ended just because he'd walked away.

Nastya didn't know why, but she wasn't ready to let him go.

She turned toward the exit, the weight of the evening pulling her back toward the life she was supposed to be living, not the one that had almost been revealed in the quiet between them.

But the question still lingered, buzzing at the back of her mind as she stepped out into the night air.

Could someone like him ever let anyone truly see him?

Nastya's footsteps were quick, the sound of her heels clicking sharply on the pavement, but her mind was racing far faster than her feet.

Why is he still in my head?

She pulled her coat tighter around her as the cold night air hit her skin, but it did little to block out the weight of what had just happened. Her thoughts circled Anton, as if he were an enigma that had quietly wound itself into her day. His face, so controlled, so distant, and yet in that brief conversation, there had been… something else.

Something real.

She couldn't shake the feeling that he had, for just a second, let her in—into that private, broken place he usually kept buried. He hadn't said much about himself, but the way he'd spoken, the shift in his eyes when he talked about his mother—it wasn't just a story. It wasn't a surface-level attempt to appear vulnerable. It felt like an invitation. A crack in his armor.

He's not what he shows, is he?

Her thoughts twisted. She hadn't expected to get any real glimpse into his life, let alone what she'd seen tonight. The way he spoke about power, about caring—it was like he didn't even believe in it anymore. She wondered if he was just too afraid to believe in it. To let it matter again.

No one really grows up the way he did without some kind of cost.

She thought about the way he'd looked at her—almost with disbelief when she'd said "caring makes us human." As if that truth hadn't reached him yet. Or maybe he'd forgotten it along the way.

Her chest tightened at the thought of him. Of his walls. Of how carefully he'd kept her at arm's length. And yet, he'd still been honest. In his own way. Even if that honesty had been jagged, even if it wasn't exactly what she'd wanted to hear, it was still real.

God, what am I doing?

Nastya's fingers clenched into fists as she kept walking, forcing her thoughts to steady. She couldn't get lost in this. She couldn't afford to be drawn into the kind of pull that Anton represented. He was dangerous, after all—his life was dangerous. There was no place for someone like her in it.

But it wasn't just his life. It was him.

She froze mid-step for just a second, the streetlights flickering in her peripheral vision. The realization hit her like a wave, so simple and so painfully clear: She wanted to know more. Not just about his world, but about him. The real Anton. The one who had shared those quiet pieces of himself—without even meaning to.

Her heart beat a little faster, a flutter of excitement mixed with something darker. Something that felt like danger—something that was hard to resist.

Stop, Nastya.

She gave herself a mental shake. The last thing she needed was to become tangled in this. She had responsibilities—her mother, Lena. This gala, as much as she'd hated it, had been an escape, a momentary distraction from everything else. Anton—he wasn't supposed to be a part of that world.

But why can't I stop thinking about him?

The streets blurred around her as she continued walking, her mind far more chaotic than she cared to admit. She passed familiar buildings, each one a reminder of the life she was desperately trying to hold on to, but they seemed farther away now. Like the world had shifted slightly. Her reality felt… more distant.

She pulled out her phone again—glancing at the time. She needed to get home. She needed to focus.

Focus. Focus on what matters.

But even as she told herself that, her mind couldn't let go of that quiet, fragmented moment with Anton. It clung to her, like it had seeped into her bones, and she hated how easily it had gotten under her skin.

Maybe he's just a man. And men…

She stopped herself before finishing the thought. No. She couldn't fall into the trap of believing that he was different. They were both living in their own worlds—separate and complicated. She was nothing to him, nothing more than a fleeting presence in a single night. Just a woman in a dress.

And yet…

Something in me wants more.

Her pace quickened again, her breath coming faster as the cool air burned her lungs.

As she approached the familiar apartment building, she shook her head again, trying to clear it. She couldn't let herself think about Anton anymore. She couldn't let her mind wander back to the chaos of his life. To the darkness he lived in. She wasn't a part of that world. She never would be.

As she went up to her room, her fingers brushed the cold metal railings.As she reached to her apartment floor, she stepped out, feeling the weight of the night settle back into her shoulders. The lights were dim, and the quiet of the hallway almost felt like a relief. Normal. Safe.

But even as she made her way to her door, the question echoed in her head 

What if he really isn't like the rest of them?

She unlocked the door and stepped inside, her mother's soft breathing the only sound in the room. Nastya exhaled, leaning against the door for a moment before closing it softly behind her.

Maybe I should just forget it. Move on.

But deep down, she knew she couldn't.